Bah! Humbug!
by MysteriousAnonymous
Summary: Hermione Malfoy is telling the story of Scrooge to her daughter. What happens when little Violet demands Daddy be the main character? A retelling of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. ADOPTABLE. PM ME IF YOU WANT IT.
1. Chapter 1

**This one I'll probably finish. I'm very sorry to Mr. Charles Dickens. Thank you for the permission to unleash the power of fanfiction on this classic.**

"Once upon a time, in London, on a snowy, sleety, damp Christmas Eve, Ebenezer Scrooge walked down the street, and-"

"Wait, Mommy, it's so much more fun when Daddy's in the story!" giggled the four-year-old Violet Malfoy, bouncing on her father's knee.

"Oh, all right, Vi. But first, you must understand something about Mr. Scrooge before we make Daddy the main character. Scrooge was a hard-hearted, mean, miserly old man, who hated love and joy and shut it all out," Ms. Hermione Malfoy said, in a quiet whisper.

"Mommy, everyone knows that's the perfect description of Daddy!" giggled Violet, snuggling into her father's armchair.

"I love you too, Vi," said her father's voice from behind the Daily Prophet, tousling his daughter's already messy blond curls.

"Shh, Vi. Let me continue. Scrooge was trudging through-"

"NO, Mommy!_ Malfoy_ was!"

"Of course, Vi," her mother said, smiling. " Malfoy was trudging through the snow, shoulders hunched, scattering all of the people in his path..."

* * *

He was walking towards his work.

Crabbe had been dead to begin with. Dead as a doornail. Seven years tonight, a dreary death. He had been the only mourner, and had never since had the heart to paint his name out on the sign.

So his company was known as Malfoy and Crabbe. Never just Malfoy.

They had been workers, something previously unknown in the pureblood society.

As usual, no child approached him, no beggars asked for a spare Knut, and not even the friendliest hound even glanced his way.

And that was just the way he liked it.

He pulled open the door, a rush of swirling snow following him in.

He stomped over to his desk, past his clerk, Ronald Weasley, who had married his old sweetheart, Pansy Parkinson, who had, in turn, told him to get a _real_ job.

* * *

"Oh, Mommy, do you mean Uncle Ron and Auntie Pansy?"

"Yes, Vi. Now shush, do you want to finish this story or not?"

* * *

Malfoy sat down in his chair as his clerk shivered slightly.

His customers had often complained about the cold, and when they believed he wasn't listening, spoke about how the cold had seeped into his heart, biting his nose, stiffening his gait, and making him completely indifferent.

Hot or cold did not matter, just as long as he profited. Ever since Crabbe died, he had become extremely tightfisted with the money.

He held it all close to his heart, and nothing else.

With a loud pop, Teddy Lupin apparated into his office. He was Malfoy's first cousin once removed, but chose to call him Uncle.

"A Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!" he announced with vigor.

Draco righted his inkwell and once more dipped his quill into it. "Codswallop!"

He once again returned to his work, indifferent once more.

"Oh, but Christmas codswallop, Uncle? I do hope that's meant as a joke," he said.

"Well, it's not. Come, what in Merlin's name do you want? Don't waste all day," he replied, scratching out more numbers onto the yellowed sheets of parchment.

"I only want to wish you a Merry Christmas, Uncle. Don't be cross," Teddy said, hanging a wreath above the doorway.

"Oh, but why shouldn't I be cross when I live in such a world of fools as this?" Draco demanded, standing to retrieve a book from his shelf. "Hah. Merry Christmas. Out with Merry Christmas, I say! What's Christmas but a time for paying bills without money, buying gifts, and finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer! If I could work my will, every single idiot who went about with a 'Merry Christmas' should be boiled in his own plum pudding and buried with a stake of mistleoe through his heart."

* * *

"Daddy!" admonished his little girl, smacking him lightly on the arm. "What in Merlin's name is your problem?"

"I blame your mother, honestly," said Draco from behind the Prophet. "She's telling the story, so if you wish for her to change it, be my guest."

* * *

"Uncle!" cried Teddy, shocked.

"Ted, keep Christmas in your own way and let me keep it in mine," Draco replied, looking up at the wreath.

"Ah, but Uncle, you don't keep it," he said, sitting in the chair in front of the desk.

Draco slammed the dusty volume shut, saying, "Let me leave it alone then. Much good may it do you. Much good has it ever done you."

Darn it. He had gotten Teddy into one of his rants.

Teddy had stood up, and said in a very dignified tone of voice, "There are may things from which I might have derived good by which I have not profited, I daresay, Christmas among the rest. And though it has never put even a Knut in my pocket, I believe it has done me good and will do me good, so I say, God bless it."

"If you say so, Ted, but don't expect me to change my ways," Draco replied.

"Oh, don't be angry, Uncle. Come to my Christmas party I'm holding tomorrow! Your old friends will be there, as well as the Potters and the Weasleys!" Teddy said, grinning once more.

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind," said the irritable Draco, sliding the volume back onto the shelf and pulling out another.

"Oh, but Uncle, why?" asked Teddy.

"Why?" snarled Draco, turning to face him. "Why did you get married?"

Teddy replied, "Why, because I fell in love with a wonderful girl. Miss Victorie Weasley, now Mrs. Victorie Lupin."

* * *

"Oh, Daddy, didn't you know that? People get married because they fall in love! Just like you and Mommy!" Violet giggled, snuggling closer to her father. "Besides, everyone knows why Teddy married Victorie. They snog more often than not!"

"Oh, Vi, will you ever learn?" asked her mother. "Now shush, I need to finish this story!"

* * *

"Why yes, Ted. You fell in love. I, for one, fell in love with solitude," snapped Draco, scratching out a few more numbers.

"Oh, but Uncle, you never came to see me even before I was married to Victorie, why use it as a reason for not coming now?" asked Teddy.

"Good afternoon, Ted," he snapped.

"I am dreadfully sorry to find you so set in your ways, but I attempt to pay homage to Christmas, and I'll keep that good spirit 'till the last. So, a Merry Christmas to you, Uncle!" Teddy said.

"Good afternoon, Ted," he said through clenched teeth.

"And a Happy New Year!" he replied good-naturedly.

"Good afternoon, Ted," he said, motioning for him to leave.

Teddy disapparated with a pop, and then the doorbell rang.

Draco sighed. "Bells. Is it necessary to always have bells?"

Placing his quill down, he poked his head out of the office. "Weasley!"

As the ringing became more persistent, he yelled again, "Weasley!"

"Yes, sir?" he asked.

"The bell, fool! See to it!" Draco said, sticking his head back into the office.

"Yes, sir," he replied sullenly.

"Merry Christmas. Wolves howling and a Merry Christmas," Draco muttered under his breath.

"Harry! Glad to see you! I-" began Weasley.

"Sorry Ron, here strictly on business today," came the voice of the Boy-Now-Man-Who-Lived.

"Ah, the orphanage not doing as well as planned?" asked a sympathetic Weasley.

"Yes, I-" he started.

Draco had looked out into the room, and said, "Why, Mr. Weasley, I thought it was for me, as you're not receiving callers."

"Yes, sir," he said again.

"Hello, Malfoy," said Potter. "You see, at this festive season of the year-"

"It's winter and cold," he replied sharply, picking up the quill once more.

"Well yes, but if I could inquire about a small donation-"

"Nothing."

"So you wish to be left anonymous?" he said.

"I wish to be left alone. Since you ask me what I wish, Potter, that is my answer. I don't make myself merry at Christmas, and can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support Azkaban and the workhouses, they cost enough, and those who are poorly off must go there."

"Ah, but Malfoy, many can't go there, and some would rather die!"

"If they're going to die, they'd better do it, and decrease the surplus population!" he spat, ushering him out back onto the streets of Diagon Alley.

* * *

"Shame on you, Daddy! That is rude!" she said angrily.

"Sweetie, change the story in my favor?" said Draco from behind the Prophet.

"No," replied Hermione. "Shush, both of you."

* * *

"WEASLEY! Latch the door. Draft as cold as Christmas blowing in here. WEASLEY!" he bellowed at his clerk.

"Well, sir, tomorrow is Christmas, and-" he began.

"I suppose you want the day off?"

"Well, if it's quite convenient, sir, it's only once a year, sir."

"It's not convenient and it's not fair. Expect a man to empty his Gringotts vault on December the twenty fifth?"

"Well, sir-"

"Be here at dawn the next morning then."

"Yes, sir."

Weasley set out into Diagon Alley, heading home.

"Merry Christmas, sir!" he said.

"Codswallop," he replied, apparating to Malfoy Manor, and tromping up to the large front door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two! I'm happy! :)

* * *

**

Draco turned, key in hand, to face the door. It was a fancy door, complete with an ornately carved door-knocker.

He looked up at the knocker, and ran back in horror. "Wha-"

"MAAAALLLFFFOYYY..." came an echoing voice from the doorknocker, which had suddenly bore the resemblance to his old friend, Vincent Crabbe.

The illusion, as he believed it, faded.

He slowly walked back up to the stoop, and poked it carefully with his wand. The brass remained stiff and unmoving.

"Codswallop, then," he muttered to himself, turning the key and opening the door to his little house elf, Tinky.

"Tinky?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, young Master Malfoy?" she responded, bowing low, with her bat-like ears brushing the ground.

"Hurry, the door, close it," he said quickly.

"If it pleases young Master Malfoy for Tinky to do so, sir," she said squeakily, shutting the door behind him.

"Anything to warm you, Master Malfoy? Porridge? Tea?" asked Tinky as she lit the torches on the way up the spiral staircase.

"Nothing, Tinky," he replied sharply, barely noticing her presence.

"Well then, Master Malfoy, sir, Tinky wishes you a Merry Christmas, sir," she said, smilingly.

"Merry Christmas? Codswallop," he said to himself.

"Your room, sir," Tinky said.

"Yes, yes. Tell Twitchy to have supper up at once," he said, waving the elf away.

With a crack, the elf was gone, and he quickly changed into his bedclothes.

An echoing voice reverberated about his room. "MERRY CHRISTMAS, MALFOY..."

"What? What?" Draco said, spinning around to see the source of the noise. "Who's there?"

Suddenly, floating through the wall, a ghost, pearly white and shimmery, appeared. It's face was one that he remembered well, and was cloaked in chains.

"What do you want from me?" he asked shakily.

"Much..." replied the ghostly, unreal voice of his dead business partner.

Refusing to believe what was happening, he called out, "Who are you?"

"Ask who I was..." murmured Crabbe once more.

"Well, who were you, then?" he said.

"In life, I was your partner, Vincent Crabbe..." the specter replied.

"He's dead. Gone," Draco replied stoutly.

"Seven years tonight, Draco..."

* * *

Snuggling closer to her father, nestled in his armchair, Violet shivered slightly. Even in the warm glow of the fire, ghosts never failed to scare her.

* * *

  
Draco cried into the black, "Why do you come here?"

"I must. It is commanded of me. I must wander the world and see what I can no longer share, what I would not share when I walked where you do now..." the echoing voice rung slightly in his ears, and he shivered.

"Why the chains?" he asked cautiously.

"This chain? Look at it, Draco. Locks and vaults and golden coins. I forged it myself, each link, each day when I sat in these chairs, commanded these rooms. Greed, Malfoy, wealth. Feel them, know them..." he murmured, holding the bonds out. "Yours were as heavy as mine seven years ago, and you have labored to build them since..."

"If you're here to lecture, I have no time for it," he said briskly. "It is late. The night is cold. I wish for comfort now."

"I have none to give. I don't know how you see me this night. I didn't ask it to happen. I have sat invisible by you many a day, Malfoy. I am commanded to bring you a chance. Heed it!" he said slowly.

"Quickly, then," he said, slipping into bed with a yawn.

"You will be haunted by three spirits..." Crabbe muttered.

* * *

Vi shivered once more. "Mommy, more ghosts?"

"Yes, sweetie. They won't be as scary, promise," she said, smiling at her daughter.

* * *

"Is that the chance?" Draco scoffed.

"Mark it..." his dead partner said.

"I do not choose too."

"Then you will walk where I do, burdened by your riches, your greed." Crabbe said ominously.

"Spirits mean nothing to me," he yawned, laying onto his pillow.

"Expect the first when the bell tolls one, the second at the same time the day after, and the third upon the next when the last stroke of twelve has ended. Look to see me no more, I must wander. Look that, for your own sake, you will remember what has passed between us..."

Crabbe slowly left, and called out, "Adieu, Draco..."

Then he was gone, and he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

"Mommy, is that it?" Violet asked cautiously.

"Not quite yet, sweetie."

* * *

Then the clock began to chime.

Draco sat straight up in bed, staring at the clock.

"Eight...Nine...Ten...Eleven...It can't be...twelve. Midnight? No. Not twelve. I haven't slept the whole day through. Twelve? Yes, yes, twelve noon." he said hurriedly, rushing over to the window and throwing back the dark drapes.

"Black. Twelve midnight..." he murmured, pausing, throwing on his scarf and muttering a quick Lumos. "I must get out, a day wasted. I must get down to the office."

Suddenly, two more chimes are heard.

"Quarter past. But it just rang midnight!" he said, shocked, as his head turned to the clock once more. "Fifteen minutes haven't gone by, not so quickly!"

Again, two small chimes break the silence.

"Quarter to one. The spirit...it's to come at one."

He hurried to his bed as another ring tumbled from the clock.

"One."

* * *

**Sorry for the cliffie...I'll hopefully have more posted later this week. I've got a lot of stuff to do, including a solo. :P Can you guess who the spirit will be?**


	3. Chapter 3

**I am so totally overjoyed! This story may be my best yet!**

* * *

Shielding his eyes, he looked about for the source, and saw Dumbledore sitting on his best chair with that odd grin and sparkle in his eye.

"Are you the spirit?" he asked shakily.

Two words came from his mouth. "I am."

"Who and what are you? I know you are Dumbledore, but why are you here, now?" he demanded.

"I am now the Ghost of Christmas Past." he said, his eyes still twinkling mysteriously.

"Long past?" he inquired.

"No. Your past."

"Why are you here?" he implored.

"Your welfare, Mister Malfoy," said the old man.

"And what shall we do? Get a Time-Turner and go back several million hours?" he asked mockingly.

"No, Mister Malfoy. Take this." Dumbledore held out an ancient looking bit of parchment. "A time portkey."

Draco reached out, and felt the familiar jerk as the blue glow around it grew.

Soon, though, they had landed in front of Hogwarts, with the children pouring out of the castle.

Amid the crowd of first-years, he spotted Blaise and Theo.

"Why, that's Blaise Zabini! Oh, and Theodore Nott!" he said excitedly. "My old friends, my two old friends...Hello, boys! Hello!"

"They are nothing but a figment of your past, Mister Malfoy. They cannot see nor hear you," said the ever-calm Dumbledore.

"They're all off for the Christmas holidays, aren't they? Most of them, at least. There were a few..." he murmured, a trace of sadness in his voice.

"There, Mister Malfoy," said Dumbledore, pointing to the aged tree by the side of the lake. "That is you, is it not?"

"Yes, yes, that's me," he replied softly.

The young boy under the tree was eleven, and had his nose in a book.

"What are you reading there, Mister Malfoy?" asked Dumbledore, once more motioning to the child.

"Hmm? Oh, the story? It was nothing, fancy, all fancy, nothing but make-believe and take me away. Silly stories, nothing but silliness. The Tale of Three Brothers, Babbity Rabbitty and the Cackling Stump, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot, all ridiculous. But," he said, tone of voice hardening, "He outgrew that, didn't he? Became a man and left this place!"

Then the headmaster said one word. "Watch."

Then, time sped up, he saw himself change, grow older, change, his life playing faster and faster, and then, in no longer than a minute, he saw the body of Dumbledore rise into the air and fall, Hogwarts desecrated.

"Left, did you? More like ran, perhaps. Let us go back to a moment in sixth year," said Dumbledore as he led Draco down to Slughorn's office.

"Please, no. Haven't you tormented me enough?" he demanded, ashen-faced.

"Come," the headmaster said.

They turned into the large office, and then the music started. It was soft, and sweet, and slow.

"Oh, I had forgotten," he said quietly, in a tone that meant he had never forgotten it and never would. "Yes...her. Don't they dance beautifully? I would have married her, if only..."

On the dance floor, Draco was slowly waltzing with Hermione, her hair in the same beautiful updo as the Yule Ball, her dress light and floaty, a smile on her face.

* * *

"Mommy, that is so romantic..."

"Shh, Vi. The story isn't over yet..."

* * *

"There was, of course, another Christmas with her," said Dumbledore sadly.

"No, headmaster, please, don't show me that Christmas. Let me watch them for a moment. Let them be happy!" he cried sadly.

The scene changed, it was after the war, she was thin, sad, wearing his engagement ring, and sitting on a bench out in Diagon Alley.

"I am here. I'm sorry I'm late, business detained me at the office," said his younger self, with a small smile on his face. "We will get married next year, Hermione, I promise."

"You said that last year, Draco," whispered Hermione.

"Well, business affairs must be just right if we are to have a family," he said, sitting down next to her and kissing her hand. "I love you, Hermione."

She jerked her hand out of his grasp, and said quietly, "You did, once."

She ran down the street, her tears slipping down her face and into the snow.

* * *

"No, mommy, how did that happen? I'm here, aren't I?"

"Oh, Vi, questions later. I'm not through with the story yet!"

* * *

"I almost went after her," he said quietly.

"Almost doesn't matter. You didn't," said the old man softly.

"I know. It wasn't meant that way, I should think, but-"

"But what? But you put money on the altar, on the pedestal, where your love should have been?" asked Dumbledore sharply. "Think no more of your past, Draco, it is over and done with. You cannot change it."

A misty fog began to swirl up, and soon enough, he was back in his bed, and the clock was striking once more.

* * *

**Sorry if it's a bit short. =P**

**Hope it was good, though!**


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing he did was look around for his house elves.

"Twitchy? Lilu? Tinky?" he called nervously.

They at once apparated into his bedroom, bowing low.

"Does Master Malfoy need-" they began to chorus.

"Nothing, nothing at all," he said dissmissively.

"Of course, sir," they replied, and with a loud crack, they were back downstairs.

Then the bell chimed once more, and he looked about. "Hmm. What was that time Crabbe said? One, was it? That was it."

He looked around, and saw nothing at all out of the ordinary. "Odd. I suppose he must have been mistaken."

He fluffed up his pillow and closed the bed-hangings, and was just going to lay his head down and let sleep overtake him when-

"Hello, Ferret!" came the all-too-cheerful voice of Fred Weasley.

He wrenched the hangings open and said slowly, "What now?"

"Come on, Ferret! A moment not spent educating you on this joyous Christmas day is a moment wasted, I say!" he yelled excitedly, snatching Draco's arm and throwing the large red scarf that he wore around Draco's neck.

* * *

Violet giggled, and said, "Mommy, is that my uncle who I never met?"

"Yes, and you would learn more about him if you would shush for another minute or so!" her mother sighed, smiling.  


* * *

  
"Wha-" he stuttered.

"No time for that, dear boy! No time at all!" cried Fred jovially as he dragged Draco down the stairs and out the front door.

"But-" he started.

"No buts on a Christmas day unless it's yours getting out of this house!" Fred said, shoving him out onto the cobbled walk, slamming the door after them. "It's Christmas! Come on!"

"I-" he began once more.

"Time's a-wasting!" laughed the overexcited Weasley, bringing him to a small house on the corner of an unrecognizable street. "Know this place?"

"Know it? No, in fact, I don't," he said, as he looked at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Suddenly, from down the street, he heard, faintly, the laughter of a small child and the sound of boots on the snowy street.

"Why wouldn't you know this place?" demanded Fred, annoyed. "It's the home of your only employee! Ronald Weasley, my dear brother."

"Really!" Draco said. "Well, he gets along very well, with only ten Sickles a week."

"TEN!" said Fred, clutching his hands to his chest, as if mortally wounded. "I would have thought you would be more generous than that!"

"I am! That's more than a galleon every two weeks, so-" Draco said.

"But with the brood he and his wife are raising, that's hardly enough!" said the indignant Fred.

Then, he spotted the source of the laughter from before. It was Weasley, and he had the youngest of the clan on his shoulders.

"Well, Evander, how are you today, my fine little boy?" asked Ron, letting his son off of his shoulders once they were at the door of the house and handing him a crutch.

"Doing quite well, father, actually! I am getting stronger each day, I can feel it!" said the boy happily. "I promise I will someday play in those snowball fights with everyone else!"

Draco smiled despite himself. A small, delicate child.

"Hurry!" said Fred, ushering them into the house behind Ron and Evander.

Pansy walked up to Evander, picked him up, and held him close, bringing him over to the table, laden with food.

"Ron, how did Evander behave in church?" asked Pansy, coming back over to Ron after she had brought all of the children to supper.

"Hmm? Oh, as good as gold. Better! There's the strangest thing. On the way back home, he said that he hoped that the people saw him in church because he was a cripple and it might be pleasant to them, on Christmas day, to remember who made the lame walk and the blind see," he replied, hanging up his coat.

Pansy smiled. "He's a good boy."

Draco looked around at the small room. "Hmph. Hardly hospitable is what I'd say."

Fred laughed. "Oh, they'd say a lot more, Ferret, if they could see you."

"Oh, they should, should they?" Draco scoffed.

* * *

"Really, Mommy? Are you sure?" asked Violet cautiously.

"Listen, sweetheart," Hermione said softly.

"Yeah, Vi, shhh!" said her father jokingly, having put down his newspaper a while back.

* * *

"Yes, I should think so," said Fred sagely, stroking an invisible beard.

"Well, then, I might want a word with them..." he muttered.

"You are here to watch," Fred said dismissively.

"Oh. Right. By the fire, then?" he asked, wringing his hands nervously.

Fred nodded. "But not a word!"

Soon, Ron had sat down with Pansy and all of the children, smiling kindly and raising his glass. "My dears, I give you Mister Malfoy, the founder of the feast."

Pansy instantly stood up, shocked, and angrily announced, "The founder of the feast indeed! Oh, I wish I had him here! I would give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I do hope he would have a good appetite for it!"

Ron sighed. "My dear, Christmas eve."

She replied crossly, "It should be Christmas eve, I say, when one drinks to the health of such a hard, odious, unfeeling, stingy, and self-centered man as Draco Malfoy! Don't say anything, Ronald! Nobody knows it as well as we do! Why, I-"

"My dear, the children!" said Ron sharply.

"Fine," she said coldly. "But I'll only drink to him for your sake and the day's not his. Hmph. Well, to Mister Malfoy, may you be very merry on this Christmas eve, that I have no doubt."

A small chorus rang out among the rest of the children, a reluctant, "Mister Malfoy."

As they sipped down their drinks, Draco looked at the family. The boy wasn't well...

"Well, my dears, if Malfoy cannot be happy, we must do it for him! Evander, a song, if you will!"

In his light, frail voice, he began shakily, "Joy to the world, the Lord has come! Let earth receive her king!"

As the rest of the family joined in, Draco said, "I- I have seen enough."

They exited the house, and as he stared back at the comfortable little cottage, he asked slowly, "The boy, will he live?"

"Well," replied Fred, stroking the invisible beard again, "If he's going to die, he'd better do it, and decrease the surplus population!"

"You're turning my words against me," he said coldly.

"Ferret, you aren't the judge. Stop judging! You didn't know that Evander was part of the surplus population, did you? Hmm? It may be, that in the sight of heaven, you are more useless, more worthless, and more unfit to live than millions like this nephew of mine!"

Draco sighed. "But is there no happiness in Christmas Present?"

"There is," Fred replied.

"Take me there. Now!" Draco commanded.

Fred crossed his arms.

"Please?" Draco said softly.

"Well, if you're that desperate...It's at the home of your nephew, Teddy."

"No! I will not see it!" Draco exclaimed.

Disgusted, Fred said, "Then there is none."

* * *

"That's a sad Christmas, mommy, if there is only one small place of happiness," said Violet, her small eyes beginning to drift closed.

* * *

"What? But...but that isn't enough! You must teach me!" Draco said, shocked.

"Would you accept a teacher, Ferret? Hmm? Look at your own words," said Fred.

"Dumbledore gave me more!" said Draco, still outraged.

"Ah, but he had a lifetime to choose from. I only have this day, one day, and you, Ferret. I have nearly lived my fill of both. I must go at midnight. That is near now."

Suddenly, they were in front of his house, and there were two young children, barefoot, clad only in rags, thin and wan.

"Who are they?" asked Draco scornfully. "The next spirits?"

"Not spirits, Ferret. Hunger, ignorance. Not spirits, not passing dreams. They are real. They walk your streets, look to you for comfort, and yet you deny them. Don't deny them too long," Fred said. "They will grow and multiply, and they will not remain children."

"Have they no refuge, no resource?" he asked, concerned.

"What about Azkaban and the workhouses?" Fred said, once more imitating Draco's cold indifference. He left, saying, "Come. It's Christmas eve."

With a flash of Peruvian Darkness Powder, he disappeared, and Draco watched as the dark mist settled.

* * *

Hermione stopped her story, looking up at her husband and child. Vi had fallen asleep on her father's chest.

"We'll continue the story later, then," she said tenderly, scooping their daughter off his chest, and bringing Vi to her small bedroom.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay, peoples. I know, I know, it's March, and I'm lame for not updating, but I have so much other crap to deal with so I hope you enjoy this chapter until I have the next one up.**

**~MA**


	5. PM me if you want to adopt this story

Hello, all. Sorry about my extended vacation from this fic. I'm sooooooo sorry, but...I am no longer writing fan fictions. I'm doing fiction press now. If you want to read some of that, look me up under the same username at fictionpress . com (remove spaces)

I know, I deserve to die. I am so sorry for all of you who have been waiting eagerly for my next update...but you can send in an application type form-y thing if you want to adopt it as a review or a PM. If I do choose you to continue my story, please acknowledge me. :)

Have a great day!

:D


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